“It makes no difference to me,” said the King. “You can have the bishop if you want him. But I’ve got your queen! How do you like that? It’s your move! Go on, why don’t you move?”
“It’s no use, grandmother,” said Bojohn. “Come along.”
They left the King at his game, and proceeded to the room of Solario the Tailor in the tower. They were admitted by Solario himself.
In the center of the room stood Mortimer the Executioner. He was wearing an unfinished garment without any sleeves, fastened together with pins, and basted with white thread along the seams. He looked extremely foolish.
“Oh!” said Solario, covered with confusion. “Pray come in, come in! Her majesty herself! This is indeed an honor! I will find more chairs in the next room. I am overpowered by this honor. Pray be seated, your majesty. Mortimer, the fitting is postponed. Pray be seated, your majesty. I do not know when I have received the honor of such a visit. Pray be seated. Mortimer, bring in some chairs. I beg your majesty to take the other chair; it is far more comfortable. Mortimer, divest yourself; divest yourself.”
Mortimer, red with embarrassment, took off the unfinished garment and put on his old one. Solario ran from chair to chair, assisting each of the party to a seat.
“We have come for a story,” said Prince Bilbo, “and I hope that you will be so good as to—”
“We want to hear about Montesango’s Cave!” cried Bojohn.
“Or the Blind Giant!” said Bodkin.
“I beg your pardon,” said Solario, “perhaps her majesty would deign to—”